Gooseberry Clafoutis | Clafoutis di Uva Spina

Gooseberries and elderflower. It is all about them these days, about how good they taste together –as though they were a sort of newly weds. In fact, they are not at all a new couple, and yet their popularity is still high. In this season, everywhere we see pavlovas, fools, cakes, pies, tarts and crumbles filled with sour, greenish berries and sweetened with flowery syrup.

My first experience with elderflower cordial was actually in France. It was at a small pig farm near Dijon that we visited during the Master's program, where I had the most mind-blowing charcuterie lunches in my whole eating life. Big trays of paté en croute, jambon persillé, rillettes and more were attacked by ravenous Gastronomy students until no pork was left on the table. On the side, each of us received a small serving of mixed salad, never enough to put to sleep our desperate need for fibers, but something. Fair enough –it had to be all about the meat.

Did I mention the bread? Pain de campaigne like no other, crusty, woody, smoky and whose crumb was as open and sweet as a ripe fruit. At one point during the lunch, it was hard to say if we needed more bread for the rillettes, or more rillettes for the bread. In doubt, we kept eating until everything was gone. Trays cleaned, they changed them with big bowls of fromage blanc and crème fraiche as dessert, as fresh as it gets. The matter wasn't wether we wanted dessert –no one says no to such a gift of the Gods, such a dairy miracle, such a luscious candid perfection.  Rather, it was about the topping: fleur the sel for the lovers of savory, cane sugar for the sweet teeth, or elderflower syrup (there called sirop de fleur de sureau), for the romantics. I was all for the latter, as it was something new to me, and curiosity is always my first motor –you can call me Ulysses. Its delicate, flowery scent, the elegant lush gained me half way through the first spoonful –the combination of tart fattiness of the cream and cheese and light, floral sweetness of the elderflower syrup (or cordial) was perfectly disarming. I ate it all, slowly, wishing for one more scoop of that intimate pleasure.

But I digress. This post should actually be about the gooseberries I found one day at the farmers' market, not knowing exactly what they were, and about how I couldn't resist buying a box, postponing the acknowledgment process to a second time. Then, sitting on my sofa weirdly as I usually do when I am focused, I started my research on what those mysterious fruits were, and their use in the kitchen. Apparently, the North of Great Britain has an excellent climate and environment for gooseberries, both wild and cultivated, and in the right season these fruits gets to every corner of the island, including the capital and the suburbs. 

Going deeper into their usage in the kitchen, I stumbled upon a plethora of  recipes pairing gooseberries with elderflower syrup. It must have been a very classic British combination I didn't know about –probably, while I was doing such reflections, many bottles of elderflower syrup were sitting peacefully in my neighbors' cupboards. It was then is when I recalled the episode of the French farm. That was my first and last encounter with the syrup. And I wanted it to remain so –to leave the memory of the syrup to sweeten my French dreams forever. 

I was indeed quite sure that gooseberries could go just as well with something else. Perhaps the answer wasn't in the cordial, but in the connection I made with France. And so, my mind run fast, and reached the most French-sounding dessert to me: clafouits. It somehow reminds me of a French lady, chic and simple, elegant and consistent, never wrong, never inappropriate. Surely, not with gooseberries.

The recipe came along with the idea. I found a good one and made it presque à la lettre, loving every single bite of it, and actually thinking that elderflower syrup would have probably worked well in it, especially with a dollop of crème fraiche on top. Let say it would have been as a cologne to that lady –the final touch that enhances her charm without altering her natural beauty. Anyway, no matter if you have or even like elderflower syrup, this clafoutis will make the best of your gooseberries, binding them in a creamy, light and elegant base, a bit French and a bit exotic, like a Baudelaire poem, or a Gauguin painting.

Blackberry Coconut Crumble Cake | Torta Crumble alle More e Cocco

Our tiny freezer is already full of blackberries, and more are ripening on the bushes along the park. Every free half day we have is dedicated to the collection of the new, juicy berries, too perfect, too tempting to be left there. We linger to savor the different flavors, sometimes as sweet as honey, others more sweet and sour, of each and every berry –each unique and different. Here is the satisfaction of gathering them: every bite is a surprise. No store-bought blackberries can surprise us anymore, but these wild ones can. And we just can't get enough of them. We are eating them in all ways –fresh and naked as a snack, in our morning muesli, with yogurt, and now, also in cake. 

How is it that I am always so tempted by cakes with fruit? I rarely conceive baking without. At the same time, whenever I have some berries, or some ripe bananas, or some extra apples, I rarely think of anything else to make with them but cake. My first thought. Which cake –that is the question? I can spend hours browsing for the perfect recipe, adapting, twisting, thinking of my pantry and my taste memory. In the end, the simplest ones always win. 

After pairing strawberries with polenta, and raspberries with almond, I did blackberries and coconut. The exotic butteriness of the coconut embraces and enhances the tart sweetness of blackberries without taking our anything from their freshness. The delightful crumbly and moist texture will make you want to catch the crumbles left on the plate with the tip of your finger. The buttery topping is a gift, a small treat, giving to this cake an "end-of-summer" touch. Is this a cake to enjoy al fresco, with a candle to illuminate the darkness, and a fresh breeze to remind us that fall is close, but we still have time –at least, for another slice. 

The Blackberries, the Forest and the Secret Garden | Le More, il Bosco, e il Giardino Segreto

They woke up early as usual, with the sunlight reaching their eyes from the big, unscreened window. Every time they turn their eyes to that window, an airplane crosses the sky, directed to Heathrow. The city is fully lightened and clearly visible at distance: the spire, the wheel, the egg-like skyscraper.

Good morning, London.

Two free days ahead of them during one of the nicest summer weeks they had seen that year, they sat at the breakfast table discussing plans for the day. She wanted to stay outdoor, avoid the tube, enjoy the sun. After a good dose of muesli, bread with honey, coffee, juice and nuts, they shared the task of cleaning the table and preparing a small meal to go for their lunch. The little green backpack was ready for the adventure, filled with water, cameras and sunglasses.

They were wearing light clothes and tennis shoes. The little world around them, warmed by the bright sun, looked possibly even more beautiful, welcoming, and promising. A feeling was growing inside them, of deep, illogical, completely emotional bond for this place they were living. Breathing deeply, filled with fresh morning air, they began their hike.

On the way, wild blackberries were ripening everywhere, too many to count. Their pace was slowed down by little stops to eat the juiciest ones, ripened before the others by direct sunlight. There is something about humans and wild berries. If we paid attention, we would perhaps perceive an ancestral instinct, a longing for adventures that don't belong to this world . What we gain from collecting a basket of berries is the invaluable feeling of victory.

The directions said the journey would take two hours. But between popping berries in their mouth, stopping to admire the landscape and stealing some instants from the unavoidable oblivion, some imitations of life and nature, to store them in a digital memory, they slowed down the walking rhythm, and took six hours in the end. They got lost a couple of times, too, without worrying too much –the right way couldn't be so far.

The path through Wimbledon Common and Richmond Park was mainly unpaved. They found themselves passing through a shady forest, following the stream of a small creek, emerging to a sunny green field, down a forest again, and then a prairie, a lake, a small wood. Eyes bright opened, they tried to fill their souls with the beauty around them, telling each other how much they loved all that, such natural life. For much that they liked the city, with its attraction and creative spirit, they needed peace and regeneration of their being that only such a wild place could give them.

Were they boring, provincial, uninspired, unable to catch the opportunities out there? They just could't do otherwise. They sat down on the green grass, unspoiled by extreme heat but rather nourished by regular rain, and they took out their small lunch. They weren't exactly hungry, as the berries they ate filled them up rather quickly, but they needed a break, and some rest. They never pack heavy food on such occasions: a small sandwich with hummus, some carrot sticks, and a couple of fruits was all they needed.

Back on the march, they finally arrived to the portion of the park that is easy to reach from the nearby neighborhoods, and as such, more crowded although not overwhelming. They pushed a small gate and entered a perfectly tidy garden of flower beds and trimmed bushes, the kind of garden one would expect to find around a villa, a lodge, a castle. There was indeed one, a small white lodge where people were enjoying a light lunch, or tea. On the backyard, a little group of well-dressed people suggested the presence of an intimate wedding. The bride, wearing a tea-length, pure white dress, probably wanted a low-key party: after the simple refreshment near the lodge, they would move down the hill, in a shady corner, and enjoy an informal picnic with family and friends.

They thought what they just entered was a sort of secret garden described in an old fairy tale –too perfect, too beautiful to be real. Flowers and fruits adorned the scene in front of their eyes, and water was running in small fountains and streams. And so, this is when she fell in love. With this all, the wild blackberries, the green, the forest, and with that feeling of the soul –she lived here, a few centuries ago. She felt as everything was familiar, something she experienced already. She felt at home.

The hike was coming to an end. They made their way home on a bus, too tired to walk back. They talked, opening to each other's feelings. Is it really what they wanted, aren't their senses fooling them? Perhaps, it was the sun making everything better and changing their mood for the best. Perhaps it distorted their judgement. Whatever the answer, it wasn't theirs to give. All they wanted in that exact moment was to cherish that elated state, float, surf the wave of contentment, and hope for the thinks ahead. Might their days be fully empty, with the sky above them clear of clouds, as the one they just lived.

Italian Table Talk #3: On Preserving Summer and Eggplant Sauce | Conservare l’Estate e Salsa di Melanzane

Summer is a promise.

Longer days, cheerful meals, clear skies, luscious, colorful and intensely flavored produce. Only with these thoughts in mind can we survive to winter. Only with the promise of tomatoes, apricots, zucchini and peaches, sun and freedom.

Summer, the best season of the year, blesses us with light, warmth and abundance. To the lucky owners of a vegetable garden, or a fruit orchard, or even to the more humble terrace-gardeners, summer is a feast. Nature can give us more food that we can possibly consume, sending the long season of privation and darkness to oblivion. Summer is the time to live in the moment, enjoying every single bite, every breath of air filled with the scent of tomato leaves, or with the saltiness of the sea.

I often think about myself in summertime in relation to the fable of the Ant and the Grasshopper. Summer can distract me, stun me with smells, daylight and natural beauties. I indulge more, slow down my pace, and become less productive and more cheerful or contemplative –exactly like the grasshopper. Yet, the fable's message is clear: summer is the perfect moment to think ahead, and to make the rest of the year less harsh. If nothing else, at least with food.

Fortunately (for me, too), other people have learnt to behave more like ants, understanding the importance of saving some of the summer yield for winter. In doing so, they tested and created methods to prevent food spoilage and to enable efficient storage and preservation of quality and nutrients for many months.

Italy is not exception: from fruit and vegetable jellies, jams and compotes to tomato canning; from pickling to drying and salting, the food history of the peninsula is studded with recipes to store and maintain food and to make it available all year around.

In this mood, we agreed on dedicating 3rd Edition of Italian Table Talk (after bread and street food) to the Italian tradition of making preserves in the summer. The variety of themes, recipes and methods is truly fascinating and can tell a lot about the culture, the society and the environment in which such traditions have developed throughout the centuries. It is undoubtedly an activity that celebrates summer and its abundance, but at the same time it tells us about people's wisdom and ahead-thinking.

In this episode, Emiko will talk about the greatest Italian recipe collector ever existed, Artusi, and his recipe for tomato jam; Giulia will take us to her Tuscan paradise and share a recipe for French beans in oil; and Jasmine with give us a great recipe for pickling cucumbers. As for me, I will share a family recipe that has been passed through generations, and that taste like summer like no other.

Red Currant Poppy Seed Scones | Scones ai Ribes Rossi e Papavero

Free Saturdays in our home often include the following: French Toast or pancakes with juice for breakfast; catching up on news; and going to the weekly farmers market. 

One of the things I like the most about living in the UK is the wealth of berries I find in the summer. Berries, forged or cultivated, cover the market stalls with their vibrant colours. I love them all, indistinctly, and I can’t help spending a small fortune on them every time we cross paths. Jewels are far less precious before my eyes. 

Free Saturdays often include spending an hour or two in the kitchen, too, particularly if we got hold of some ripe seasonal fruits. In the case of berries, I find the temptation of settling them into a crumbly, sweet frame hard to resist. 

This time around, we made scones. We have been craving them for a while, and the right occasion had finally come –we had all we needed to make them the way we love them: slightly sweet but mostly tart, with a soft crumb full of crunchy bits. 

Tart currants, a pinch of salt, a little sugar and a good dose of seeds made the magic, transforming a rather healthy base into something special. We finished them in one day – two each for breakfast, one after lunch with coffee, and one late at night while watching a movie. Gone. Perhaps a but too fast – like our free Saturday. Luckily, there will be more to come. Now we know we should make a double batch, at least to cover Sunday, too.

Red Currant Poppy Seed Scones 

Adapted from here

For 8 small scones

1 2/3 cup whole wheat flour 


2 T natural dark brown sugar


1 teaspoon baking powder


1/8 tsp fine grain sea salt


2 T good unsalted butter, diced and chilled

1/2 cup full-fat natural yogurt


2 tablespoons whole milk
 

1 teaspoon vanilla extract 

1 cup red currants 

2 T poppy seeds

icing sugar, for dusting

Preheat the oven to 200°C (400°F). Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Blend the butter into the dry ingredients using your fingers, until you obtain a coarse crumbly mixture. Add the yogurt, milk, vanilla, poppy seeds and currants. Mix the dough until a ball forms –do not over-mix. Shape the dough into a flat circle, and cut it into eight wedges using a serrated a knife. Place the wedges on the lined baking sheet, leaving a little space between them. Bake for about 20 minutes, or until the scones are golden and cooked through – try and test for doness using a toothpick. Remove from the oven and allow to cool on a rack. Dust with icing sugar and serve.

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Un sabato libero ha il sapore di french toast, o di pancakes e sciroppo d’acero, la spensieratezza di una lunga lettura, e il piacere di andare a piedi al mercato dei contadini. 

Tra le cose che ho imparato ad amare dell’Ighilterra ci sono i frutti di bosco. Selvatici o coltivati, in questo periodo sono loro i portagonisti, loro, con quella dolce nota acidula che tanto me li fa amare, al punto da investirci una piccola fortuna ogni volta che li vedo. I gioielli, ai miei occhi, non reggono davvero il confronto. 

Un sabato libero ha quindi, spesso, anche il profumo di un dolce appena sfornato, qualcosa che accolga quelle piccole gemme rosse nel suo tenero impasto. Ha, con sé, il piacere dell’indugio, della creazione, lenta, assaporata. Il forno acceso diventa parte integrante di questo languore, un forno da cui uscirà un piccolo vassoio di dolci indulgenze. 

Questo sabato, dopo averli voluti per settimane, siamo finalmente riusciti a sfornare degli scones. Abbiamo aspettato, certi che l’attesa sarebbe stata ripagata. Volevamo essere certi di avere tutti gli ingredienti per fare di questi scones qualcosa di buono. Per noi, dei buoni scones devono essere facili ma complessi allo stesso tempo, in sapore e consistenza. Così, la combinazione di dolce e salato, con l’acidulo dei frutti rossi, e la consistenza “sbriciolevole” accompagnata dalla croccantezza dei semi, ci è sembrata quella giusta. E così è stato.

Ribes, un pizzico di sale, un po’ di zucchero grezzo, e una buona dose di semi di papavero hanno fatto la magia, rendendo speciale un impasto leggero. Ne abbiamo mangiati due ciascuno a colazione, uno per merenda e uno tardi la sera, davanti ad un film. 

Finiti, come il nostro sabato. Senza rimorsi.

Scones ai Ribes Rossi e Semi di Papavero

Ricetta adattata da qui

Per 8 piccoli scones: 

220 gr di farina integrale 

30 gr di zucchero di canna integrale

1 cucchiaino di lievito per dolci

la punta di un cucchiaino di sale fino

30 gr di burro freddo a pezzetti

125 ml  di yogurt intero bianco

2 cucchiai di latte

1 cucchiaino di estratto naturale d vaniglia

1 manciata di ribes rossi

2 cucchiai di semi di papavero

zucchero a velo per spolverare

Scaldare il forno a 200°C. In una ciotola capiente, mescolare farina, zucchero, lievito e sale. Aggiungere il burro a pezzetti e amalgamarlo alla farina con la punta delle dita, fino a che non si ottiene un composto simile a delle briciole appiccicose. Unire quindi yogurt, latte, vaniglia, semi di papavero e ribes, e mescolare delicatamente fino ad ottenere una palla d’impasto omogenea. Sistemate l’impasto su una leccarda coperta di carta forno, appiattitelo dando una forma tonda e alta 3 cm circa. Tagliate la superficie in 8 parti con un coltello affilato, distanziate gli scone l’uno dall’altro e infornate per circa 15-20 minuti. Sfornate quando gli scones appaiono dorati in superficie e superano la prova stecchino. Lasciateli raffreddare, quindi spolverizzateli con zucchero a velo e servite.